


Make A Wish

by xivz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ballet Dancer Baz, Barista Simon, Baz pov, Character with depression, Creature Simon, Disney References, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Ebb's Cafe, First Kiss, Flirting, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Human Baz, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance, Texting, magical wishes, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 13:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz
Summary: “No!” Simon groans and puts his glasses back on his face, “this is going to sound crazy -”“You’ve said that already, I can assure you that you’re  coming across that way without telling me anything else.”“Shut up, no, listen,” Simon tries again, “I’m a Jinn, and it’s basically in my coding to grant you one wish as payment for saving my life.”I stop stirring my coffee and stare at him, what the fuck is aJinn? He’s right in telling me that he’s sounding crazy, also, wishes? What the fuck?He shifts uncomfortably, “you don’t believe me.”“I don’t believe you.”Inspired byAladdin.





	Make A Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for 2019 COMB.

I still dream of dancing, of twirling and balancing on the knuckles of my toes. Of stretching my body beyond its limits, remaining birdlike but strong. Of bleeding feet and torn skin. I dream of the studio, with its polished wooden floors and the mirrors that would show me myself so that I may improve my posture and pose. I strove for perfection and had reached it. I was one of the best. 

In my dreams, I am in all black. Black shirt and black tights and black shoes, my black hair pinned back and my arms above my head. Graceful. 

The dream ends in a flash of bright headlights and screeching tyres and the sound of glass and metal collapsing.

I wake up with my right leg throbbing, having slept incorrectly on it. The knee is scarred from where they had to put metal and screws to hold it all together. On good days I barely notice it. I limp, always off balance (I will never be graceful again). On bad days, I down pain pills as if they’re candy, spend my day alternating heat and cold and wallow away on my sofa while sponging off of my trust fund and inheritance.

The truth is that I am no longer the man I had been. I hate myself for it, wishing that I could be something more than this, but my therapist (whom I barely see) states that this is normal. This is part of the healing process. It’s all bullshit to me.

Today is a bad day, but I’ve managed to get myself from my bed into my living room. I’ve managed to change into joggers and a clean shirt, and have my television on instead of staring at a blank screen. My phone is buzzing from where it sits on my lap and I blink sluggishly down at it, the pain pills have finally kicked in and everything feels slower.

[Wellbelove] 

**Agatha **(10:45): Hey Baz, how are you today?

Agatha Wellbelove. I grew up with her. She and I started ballet together at the tender age of three, back when we were both too chubby and clumsy to be anything other than horrible. Back when it was all about having fun and less about being perfect. She eventually left ballet in favour of equestrian activities, but our families still socialized within the same circles and we were both sent to the same prep schools and summer camps. (Her mother is a social climber, while my family is old money and if not for my stepmother would have nothing to do with her.) 

My phone buzzes again between one episode of _The Office_ and the next. Honestly, the show is blurring into endless sarcasm and awkward jokes. I’m too out of it to care much, and my eyes are mostly closed as my stomach rumbles.

[Wellbelove]

**Agatha **(11:05): I have a favour to ask of you.

Of course she does. All I’m good for these days is the weight of my name. Instead of answering, I fall asleep to the feel of my stomach clenching and the taste of acid in my mouth.

When I awake again it’s sometime in the mid-afternoon. The sunlight piercing through my living room’s windows causes me to groan. I sit up and wince, stretching out my leg and massaging my knee before moving my legs over the side of the sofa. My phone falls onto the floor and I sigh before carefully bending forward to scoop it up. 

There are quite a few texts from Agatha. I blink and rub my face before deciding to read them. It’s not as if I’ve anything else planned.

[Wellbelove] 

**Agatha **(11:09): I’m trying to put together a play for the Youth Association.

**Agatha **(11:11): I’ve already begun getting donations from people at Club, but I need someone who can help the kids with being on stage. 

**Agatha **(11:12): Dev’s helping, and he’s a good guy, just a little clueless. 

**Agatha ** (11:14): The play has nothing to do with ballet. It’s going to be a production of Frozen. But I remembered how great you were at acting when we were younger and how much you can help with choreography for certain scenes.

**Agatha **(11:15): Before you shut me down, at least consider it?

**Agatha **(11:20): Plus it’ll get you out of the house a few times a week. Mordelia wants to audition for the role of Hans.

**Agatha **(11:21): This will be good for you Basil!

I blink a few times before placing my phone on the coffee table and slowly forcing my body to stand. I hate children. I don’t know why she’d even suggest my working with them on anything. It’s not as if they’d care about what I used to do. 

There’s a cane that I use on bad days. Its existence feels like a mockery toward me. Today I hobble my way to it and lean on it heavily. I make myself a sandwich for lunch and use the washroom before making my way back onto the sofa. There are days where I feel as if the sofa would be where they’d find my body.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text message and I huff a sigh of annoyance. If it weren’t for the fact that my father had forced this cell phone on me, I doubt I’d have one. Since the accident, my family has become, admittedly, over the top with keeping in contact with me. It was either take the phone and always answer whenever one of them calls, or have my Aunt Fiona move in.

[Wellbelove]

**Agatha **(13:32): At least tell me you’re not in a ditch somewhere.

**Baz **(13:33): I’ve been sleeping. I’ll consider your favour.

**Agatha **(13:34): Good! Let me know by Friday?

**Baz **(13:34): Alright.

I don’t plan on doing this, I truly don’t. I don’t want to do anything other than continue to sleep. When I come back from my drug-induced rest it’s to use the bathroom and attempt to wash. Hot water always helps dull the ache. My reflection peers back at me with darkly smudged eyes— a poor imitation of what I was, what I am capable of. My hair is black as midnight and hangs limply around my face. My skin is wan and oily. My lounge clothes are ill-fitting. I used to fill them out, but I have lost weight in all the wrong areas, and now I’m just too thin and sickly looking.

I feel loose-limbed after a long soak in hot water. I stretch my leg the way my physical therapist suggested. It hurts and makes me suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. There was a time when this would have been easy, but the muscle cramps and my nerves spasm. Fortunately, the rest of my body cooperates, falling back into rhythm. 

I should try to look at the positive in all of this— another thing my therapist suggests I do when things become overwhelming. The positives: I can still walk. I didn’t lose my leg. That was a possibility for a while there. My skin can feel the carpet and wood underneath the soles of my feet. I’m healthy, attractive, and relatively young. I have money to my name and people who love me enough to harass me to ensure that I’m okay. There is more to me than dancing. I have a life. My heart is pumping, my lungs are working. I’m _ alive_. 

After several minutes I get up and order pizza for dinner. Perhaps I should give Agatha’s request merit. I can already hear my stepmother prodding me regarding volunteering with children. _ ‘It’s good for you, Basil’ _ echoes mockingly in my mind. If nothing else, it _ would _get me out of the house.

It’s not until the next day that I leave the comfort of my home after nearly a fortnight of remaining indoors. I had run out of bread and other necessities and felt the need for fresh air even though I could have easily _Amazon_ delivered it all to my home. The market is only two blocks away and it would be for my benefit to go.

I dress slowly, take my cocktail of pain pills to help with the walk, and head out of the flat.

I take my time walking back home afterward, it’s a balmy day, comfortable and bright with a slight breeze. The kind of day that makes you wish that something good would happen. The kind that made you almost wish that it was warmer so that the beach or a pool would be an option. I lean heavily on my cane, wishing that I didn’t need it as often as I did, the strap of my canvas bag full of groceries is secured in my right hand. It’s the middle of the workday so the pavement is virtually empty, only a few young mothers with their small children or elderly people running errands. 

There’s a man around my age at the kerb near the crosswalk, broad shoulders, and bronze curls. I could see his forearms flex as he focused on his phone, not paying any mind to the road at all, the tips of his shoes dipped toward the street. I saw the truck as it round the corner, the end of it hopping the kerb. I don't know what possessed me, but I could already imagine the back of the truck hitting the man who was standing at the edge. Without thinking, I grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him back forcefully, it was an effort that placed too much strain on my bad leg and had me grit my teeth but we both felt the wind coming off of the side of the delivery truck from our spot barely a metre away. I watched as the truck righted itself so that all four tyres were back on the road. 

“Shit!” The man yelped, he then turned to face me with wide blue eyes and a pale face. “You just saved my life!”

I lean on my cane and glare down at him, there are at least three inches in height difference between us. He peers up at me from horn-rimmed glasses. _ Blue_. His eyes are the colour of a summer sky. He’s got a mole underneath one of his large blue eyes, and freckles across the bridge of his nose, and more moles scattered sporadically on his cheeks and chin, with his face tilted towards me it exposes his long throat with it’s jutting Adam’s apple. His face is nicely squared, masculine in a way that reminds me of a comic book superhero. His curly bronze hair is falling across his forehead and I want to reach over and push it back. His shoulders and chest are broad and taper down into a narrow waist. 

It has been a long time since I’ve felt an attraction toward another person. Sometime before the accident that I can only vaguely recall. Now, however, there is a spike of heat at the pit of my stomach and I swallow uselessly as I hold on tightly to my bag and try to shift my weight onto my good leg. 

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the street like that,” I managed to tell him. “You may not be as lucky next time.”

I turn to hobble away with dignity and hopefully calm my racing heart but the man is suddenly by my side. 

“Wait! Let me make it up to you! I owe you one.” He catches up with me easily, strides confident and easy-going. The sun catches on his hair and creates an almost halo around his crown. 

“No, you don’t,” I wish I could sprint away from him. 

“Please, allow me this?” He’s in my personal space, closer than what would be socially acceptable of two strangers. This close I can catch a whiff of baked goods and sweetened tea, was that _ him_?

Blue eyes plead up at me, and I force myself to harden my resolve. “No. Please leave me alone.”

He gives me a frown, “how about your name? My name is Simon.”

Simon. It’s already branded into my memory, just like the mole underneath his left eye will forever be.

“None of your business,” I sneer harshly as I sidestep him and continue the rest of my way home, I’m only mildly disappointed that he doesn’t bother calling out after me.

* * *

Thursday is another bad day, that’s three days in a row now, joy. I do my stretches, take more pills, and attempt to eat something small for breakfast.

It’s so quiet that I can hear my heartbeat, and I can’t help but think of my family asking me to move back home after I was released from the hospital. My parents and aunt are uncomfortable with the fact that I live alone. My sister, Mordelia, once suggested that I get a pet. ‘_A service animal, Basil! I read that they help people - emotionally._’ I think she just wants me to get a cat since she can’t have one while living at home. 

My bowl of oatmeal is sad, but I eat it because my body needs something. Maybe I’ll take a nap or read for a little bit before going out. My phone is buzzing in the other room and I yawn as I make my way toward it. 

[Idiot Cousin]

**Dev **(10:34): Hey, are you going to help Agatha with the play? 

**Baz **(10:35): Idk yet. It’s only Wednesday, she said to let her know by Friday.

**Dev **(10:38): I’m going to help, Niall said he’d join too if you’re doing it.

**Dev **(10:38): It’ll be like when we were in school. 

**Baz **(10:40): I’ll consider it.

**Dev **(10:42): Let me know, frankly I think this will be good for you.

The truth is that there wasn’t much for me to do with my days. Not since I stopped dancing. I survive off of my inheritance from my late mother and my trust fund from my father. Perhaps I should help with that play Wellbelove and Dev were attempting to scrap together. 

I lie down on the couch and put on _Netflix_, falling asleep between one episode of _Doctor Who_ and the next. 

It’s sometime in the afternoon when I come back to the world of the living. When one is unemployed, single, and with no responsibilities, it’s easy for hours to bleed together. I have no set schedule, not anymore. I dress in jeans and a t-shirt, my hair in a sloppy bun at the base of my neck.

I take my time getting to the cafe a few blocks away from my home. The smell of baked goods and coffee hit me as soon as I enter, maybe I’ll buy some pastries and go home to read. Or maybe I should begin looking for an actual job. I doubt there was much need for has-been ballet dancers. 

Once again the day is lovely, warm and sunny and perfect. I almost hate it, but that’s because I’m dramatic and wanted it to reflect how I felt. My mood wasn’t terrible, but being in constant pain would make anyone a little unpleasant. 

The cafe is called Ebb’s, it’s small and quaint, and perfect for a person who wants solitude while still out in public._ Nirvana_ is playing softly from the shop’s speakers, and it causes me to pause and listen to the lyrics. 

_Come as you are, as you were_

_ As I want you to be _

_ As a friend, as a friend _

_ As a known enemy _

Lately, it feels as if the universe is trying to tell me something. 

“Oh!” The man behind the counter startles as I approach and I try not to react. It’s Simon. His face breaks into a large grin, “hello Mr. Stranger!”

Since when does he work here? I’ve been here regularly over the last several months and have never seen him. Part of me wants to turn around and walk right back out, manners be damned. I’m not sure what it is about him that throws me off-center, makes me feel that I could fly and drown at the same time. I don’t like this one bit. 

His nametag is on his chest. _ Simon_. At least he hadn’t lied about that. 

“What can I get for you?” Simon asks, a sharpie out and his hand inching towards the stack of different sized cups near the register. 

“A medium pumpkin mocha breve with extra whipped cream,” I state, staring up at the menu above his head instead of at him. 

His square fingers wrap around a brown paper cup and he begins to write the order down. “Can I have a name for this?”

I glare as he smiles up at me again. 

“Basil,” I regret it as soon as it comes out of my mouth. _ Basil_, the worst variation of my name. 

“I,” Simon is practically vibrating with the force of his smile. Honestly, who smiles this much naturally? I wonder what drugs he’s on and where I can purchase them. “Did not expect that, _ Basil._”

I try to pay the amount, but Simon waves me off. Is this his way of attempting to repay what he supposedly owes me? I roll my eyes at him, and it’s not until I have my drink in hand that I slap the money onto the counter for him before walking off, ignoring his irritated “_hey_!” that follows me. 

It isn’t as if I would not have taken the free drink, it’s the fact that I knew it would bother Simon if I paid for it. Which is immature on my part, but I just can’t help it. I blame it on his annoyingly attractive face. Maybe it’ll prevent him from smiling at me like that, I don’t think I could handle seeing it again. His eye teeth curve inwards and I don’t know what to do with this information. 

Instead of focusing on Simon, I take a languid sip of my beverage, relishing in the sweetness that hits my taste buds. It’s similar to drinking a melted candy bar with a dash of cinnamon. I move out of the way of foot traffic (not that there’s much) to take the top off and lick at the whipped cream. I stand there leaning against the brick face of a random shop, focusing on my hot coffee. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I make sure my cane is against my leg as I take it out of my back pocket to read my latest text. 

[The Worst]

**Mordelia **(15:03): Aggie and Dev said that you might volunteer for this thing?

**Baz **(15:04): They’re gossips.

**Mordelia **(15:06): I’m trying to talk Aggie into making me Hans. Have Anna be bi or pan, you know? So far she’s not for it. Which is utterly ridiculous, not everyone is cishet. 

**Baz **(15:06): Maybe she wants to stay true to the film.

**Mordelia **(15:07): Whatever. 

**Mordelia **(15:09): You should do it, though, we’d benefit from having someone aiding us who isn’t a complete idiot. 

**Baz **(15:10): Flattery.

**Mordelia **(15:11): Only a little bit.

It looks like I will be helping with the production of _ Frozen _after all. My family would be thrilled, this will be interacting with society again, and in a way that shines a positive light onto me. 

[Wellbelove]

**Baz **(15:13): Fine, I’ll help.

**Agatha **(15:14): !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Agatha **(15:14): I’ll email you all of the information!

**Baz **(15:15): Don’t make me regret this.

**Agatha **(15:15): Oh hush, you’ll love it. 

I’m about to place my phone back in my pocket and continue my trek home when my phone buzzes again. 

[Group Chat: My Minions]

**Dev **(15:16): Eeeyyy!!! Good on you for deciding to help us.

**Baz **(15:17): I hate you. 

**Niall **(15:17): Want to meet up at the Mummers House tomorrow night? Around 7?

**Dev **(15:17): I’m in.

**Baz **(15:18): I’ll see you tomorrow.

This time I ignore the buzzing as I finally put my phone back and start on the way home again. I’m inexplicably tired and yearn for a hot soak in my tub and perhaps some of my weaker pain pills. I pass a trash bin to throw away my coffee cup but pause I catch sight of Simon’s atrocious handwriting. _ Basil_, all of the letters are capitalized and tightly together, one letter difficult to distinguish from the other. 

I trace the pad of my thumb over my name for a brief moment, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth without my permission. I shake my head to clear it and throw the cup away. 

* * *

_Mummers House_ is a pub that I have been frequenting since before University. It still looks the same, with its tartan booth seats and mismatched barstools. There’s a television up in the corner opposite the entrance, a game of football playing and people cheering and jeering at it. Back in Uni, I didn’t drink much, I had to maintain a certain weight at all times and empty carbs hadn’t been an option. Now? Well, things are different now. 

“There he is!” Dev grins widely like the idiot that he is. It doesn’t stop from a particular warm affection to spread in my chest at the sight of him and Niall. 

“Gentlemen,” I greet them as I take the spot beside Niall in our usual booth. 

“Got you the first pint,” Niall indicated while pushing a glass over to me. 

“How have you two been?” Dev asked curiously, although I know it’s more to check on my well being than to catch up. My father may have set him up for it. I decided to go with it, telling him that I went and bought _ Frozen _ to study the film to see how to adapt the dance scene for the song _ Fixer Upper _ to something that children can do.

From there I allow my cousin and best friend to take over the conversation, enjoying listening to them talk about their lives. Still, I can’t help but notice the looks they’re both throwing my way. They're always giving me looks. Typically worried ones. I ignore them.

I’m in the middle of finishing my pint when I notice him, sitting at the bar with a woman who has bright red hair and a Latinx man. Simon is laughing at something his friend was saying, nodding enthusiastically. It makes my blood run cold and my heart race, and maybe it’s a mixture of my medications with alcohol, but I have this terrible feeling that this is not a coincidence. 

I watch Simon as he hops off of his stool and heads towards the toilets near the back. I turn to my friends with an easy smile, “be right back.”

_Why _am I following him? This could be just a coincidence. I saved him Wednesday and stumbled across his work establishment on Thursday, it was obvious that we lived near each other. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a planned meeting. 

It takes me several minutes to make my way to the toilet, the pub isn’t large but it is crowded and I can barely walk well on a normal day. By the time I get to the correct side of the room, Simon walks out of the toilets and nearly slams into me. 

“Shit!” He exclaims, his hands landing on my biceps to prevent both of us from toppling over. “Sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was - Basil? What’re you doing here?”

His large blue eyes are focused on my face, I can feel my brows furrow and my features twist into an incredulous look. “I always come here. You can let go of me now.”

“Oh! Sorry,” He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve never been here before, but Penny suggested it for its fish and chips, which are good. Oh, hey, maybe I can buy you a pint? Or something? I still owe you.”

Goodness but he does like to ramble. His ears are turning red the longer I watch him talk, and he doesn’t seem as if he can stop himself from tugging at his curls and shifting awkwardly on his feet. I want to keep staring at him, I want to see how flustered he can become. (I’m sadistic.) 

“No, thank you, I was just about to head out soon,” I didn’t plan on it, but it sounds like a good idea once it’s said aloud. 

Simon’s face falls, his mouth pursing together as he nods. I try to count the number of freckles that run across the bridge of his nose as he thinks on his next words. “Me too, would you mind if I walk out with you?”

Once upon a time, I was suave, now I’m trying to ignore the implications as my stomach does somersaults. All this because he’s got a pretty face and lovely forearms, and nice broad shoulders. He’s disgustingly attractive and I’m only human. “Alright.”

“Good, let me just tell Penny,” Simon is back to beaming. 

I watch him go back to the bar where his friends are sitting. What exactly did I just agree to? I manage to hobble my way back to Dev and Niall. 

“Who’s that?” Niall asks while nodding toward Simon. 

“An acquaintance,” I shrug, bending slightly to pick up my drink, draining it before standing straight again. “I don’t mean to cut this short, but I shall see you gentlemen Sunday for Wellbelove’s first official meeting.”

Dev’s salacious grin makes me want to punch him, but it always has. “Pulling? Good on you.”

I roll my eyes at him, but before I can reply, Simon is at my side. 

“I'll see you later,” I tell my friends, ignoring their gazes. I couldn’t say for sure that they’re correct, I don’t know Simon well enough to guess if he’s attempting to pull me or if he’s going to try to murder and mug me. 

The outside air is cool, there are a few people outside smoking and chatting. It’s a nice evening, the sun hadn’t fully set yet, it’s only 8:30. I’m unsurprised by the fact that I do want to go home. I glance over at Simon and try to get a feel for the situation. 

“Hey,” He speaks up, “I uh have an ulterior motive.” He’s shifting again like he did inside, if he’s trying to pick me up then he’s doing a terrible job, but I won’t lie to myself, I’d go home with him. 

“Oh?” I lift a curious brow at him. 

“Uh, yeah,” Simon stammers, “can we go somewhere private to talk?”

My imagination did not show me that a place ‘private to talk’ is a half-empty diner further down the road from the pub. 

Simon gives me a sheepish look from across the table as we’re seating, and we both put in orders of coffee with the server. I try not to touch the sticky Formica table, keeping my hands in my lap instead. I glance out the window and see people milling about. It’s Friday night, but for me, it’s a bit of a shock. I haven’t been out during the weekend in ages, always avoiding my friends and family while cocooning myself on my sofa with Netflix. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” Simon begins without any preamble. He’s playing with the sugar packets and avoiding making eye contact. I watch the way his bronze curls fall across his forehead, and his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose. “Um, it’s just -”

“Are you stalking me?” I ask him. 

This startles him and he sits upright, eyes wide, “what? _ No_! _ What_?” 

“Articulate,” I drawl while examining my cuticles. 

He huffs a half laugh and starts again, “look, the thing is, you have to let me repay you for saving me.”

“This again? It wasn’t that big of a deal.” Only, I probably did save his life. Or ensured that he wouldn’t need a trip to the hospital. I can’t imagine being hit by a delivery truck is pleasant. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“I kind of do,” Simon takes off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. 

Our server returns with our beverages during our pause in the conversation. He places the carafe on the table and tells us to flag him down if we want to order food before turning to attend another table. 

“Look, it’s against my -” He pauses and flounders with his words for a moment. As he seems to think his sentence out, I pour an unhealthy amount of sugar into my mug followed by several creams. “Fuck.”

“It’s against your fuck,” I murmur while rolling my eyes. 

“No!” Simon groans and puts his glasses back on his face, “this is going to sound crazy -”

“You’ve said that already, I can assure you that you’re coming across that way without telling me anything else.”

“Shut up, no, listen,” Simon tries again, “I’m a _ Jinn_, and it’s basically in my fucking coding to grant you one wish as payment for saving my life.” 

I stop stirring my coffee and stare at him, what the fuck is a Jinn? He’s right in telling me that he’s sounding crazy, also, _ wishes_? What the fuck? 

He shifts uncomfortably, “you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

His blue eyes bore into me, and for a moment I swear they’re glowing. It must be the crappy overhead lighting. “I can prove it.”

I raise a brow. So apparently the fit, handsome, guy that I saved a few days ago is off his rocker. Figures. No one is that cute without some sort of issue. “Whatever you say.”

I take a sip of my coffee and almost drop my mug at the burst of flavor that lands on my tongue. Pumpkin Mocha Breve. How much did I drink? Is it a hallucination from mixing my medication with alcohol? 

Simon grins brightly at me before taking a sip of his own, black, coffee. “Told you I can prove it.”

My feelings are complicated. Do I freak out over the fact that my plain coffee is now my favourite flavored one? It could have been the server, but no, the coffee was black. His eyes glowed. Fuck, how does the average person react to something like this?

“This has been interesting,” I state while firmly placing my mug on the table, “you can pay for my drink. I’m going home.”

I leave the diner as he stutters out a protest. No, I am not dealing with any type of _ supernatural _shit. My family is Egyptian and I remember my grandparents having been extremely superstitious. I practically run back home, which is a stupidly terrible idea and my bad leg screams at me for doing it. 

I take a quick shower, pop some more pain pills, put my knee brace on, and grab my phone. He said he was a ‘Jinn’, time to _ Google _before sleep overtakes me. 

_ Jinn _

_ /jin/ _

_ (in Arabian and Muslim mythology) an intelligent spirit of lower rank than the angels, able to appear in human and animal forms and to possess humans. _

I’m about to click on the _ Wikipedia _page for it when sleep suddenly claims me. My dreams are about blue eyes, large wings, and a stereotypical magic lamp.

* * *

[Group Chat: Frozen (in Hell)]

**Agatha **(12:03): Remember, 1:30! Don’t be late. 

**Dev **(12:03): Wouldn’t dream of it. 

**Unknown **(12:05): Can you resend the directions? I think I deleted it. 

**Niall **(12:08): Here <jpg>

**Unknown **(12:09): Thank you!

**Unknown **(12:11): You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached to your body.

**Unknown **(12:12): Yeah, probably.

**Agatha **(12:15): Does anyone know if Baz is alive?

**Dev **(12:16): Unless that guy who pulled him murdered him, he should be. 

**Unknown **(12:17): Going home with a stranger is always a risk.

**Niall **(12:19): Baz I can see that you’ve been reading all of this.

**Agatha **(12:20): 1:30, Basil!

**Baz **(12:20): Bite me.

**Unknown **(12:21): Wait...BASIL? The guy who saved Simon?

**Agatha **(12:22): You saved Simon? Penny, explain this because Baz is useless.

**Dev **(12:22): Wait, what?

**Unknown **(12:22): Ah, maybe I shouldn’t go to the meeting today.

**Penny **(12:23): Don’t be stupid, Si. And yeah, Si said that a man named Basil saved him from being hit by a truck. 

**Niall **(12:24): Baz, you saved a guy’s LIFE?

**Baz **(12:25): That’s dramatic, all I did was pull him out of the way.

**Simon **(12:26): He did, I owe him.

I glare down at my phone and sigh. Simon knows Agatha? Sometimes I feel as if the universe is working against me, that’s the only explanation that I have regarding this situation. Now my stalker has my phone number, and I have his. Fuck my life. I almost want to skip this initial meeting but I refuse to be scared off by some weirdo. 

If I must face Simon again, I’m going to make sure that I look good. Which is how I find myself in a purple, red, coral and periwinkle floral pattern graphic t-shirt, dark jeans that are cropped at my ankles, and a pair of black boat shoes. Casual, yet tailored and expensive. I put on my favourite cologne, take a handful of pills, make sure my hair is back in a bun at the base of my neck, grab my shiny black cane, and head out to the bistro Wellbelove wants everyone to meet at. 

I’m ten minutes late, but that doesn’t bother me. Niall waves at me from a corner table where he sits with the girl with curly bottled red hair that had been at the bar on Friday (I’m assuming she’s Penny), and Simon. Dev and Agatha are both late, typical. 

I’m trying my best to not lean on my cane too hard, but it’s inevitable as I make my way towards them. 

“Hey, Baz!” Niall greets with a wide smile, “Dev just texted me and said he’s stuck in traffic.”

“So he just left his house,” I state while taking the seat beside him, across from Simon. Damn, I should have taken the seat on his other side, but that would require me to go around the entire table. “Hello, I’m Baz.” I offer my hand to the woman across from Niall. 

She has on a pair of cat-eye glasses, the type that you’d expect stereotypical librarians to wear, her frizzy curls are pulled up into a sloppy top bun and her skin is a healthy shade of brown that reminds me of my mother and aunt. “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Penny.”

‘_Finally meet you _’ echoes in my mind, and I can’t help but wonder exactly what Simon said about me to her. 

“Likewise,” I say back to her before nodding at Simon. 

He’s in a heather grey t-shirt that’s stretched over his chest and biceps, his curls are wild and his glasses are a little smudged. I don’t even think he’s trying to look as good as he is. I hate him. 

I allow Niall and Penny to take over the conversation as a server stops by and takes our beverage order, along with Simon’s appetizer order, and it’s just as she’s leaving our table that Dev and Agatha appear. The conversation then flows into the play, on the script that is based on the Broadway production of _ Frozen _, on how Niall is doing a fundraiser for costumes, and Penny has already gotten a local church to donate the use of their stage, and Dev has been talking to the people at his job about paints and props. Agatha talks about the auditions she’s been holding for the roles, and Simon shyly mentions lighting and sound - all of the electrical that would need to be done. I remain silent, my role is a bit more hands-on and I shrug when Agatha asks me about routines and asks if I could, perhaps, help teach the children how to project their voices for their scenes. 

During all of this, we order lunches and the conversation flows easily from the topic of _ Frozen _ to other things. The last play anyone saw live, our individual experiences when it comes to performing, to which I remain silent. Until Agatha turns her brown eyes on me. 

“Basilton is a ballet dancer,” she says with a kind smile. The accident is behind me, but the reminder of it still stings. I _ had _been the best. 

“That makes sense as to why you’re doing the choreography!” Simon says and his blue eyes are a bit too much for me to deal with. His face is earnest and I almost want to punch him for it, that _ sincerity_. This is a man who says he’s a _ Jinn_, a man who claims that he owes me a wish. As if any of that were true. He’s maybe just a little insane, yet I still find him stupidly attractive. 

Niall shifts in his seat beside me and I narrow my eyes at him before turning back to Simon. I shrug and lean forward so that my elbow is on the table and my head is resting on my palm, “it does, doesn’t it?” 

Dev snorts from his side of the table, “stop flirting, Baz.”

I roll my eyes at him but catch sight of Simon’s ears steadily becoming red from the corner of my eye. I’ve been attempting to count his freckles for nearly my entire time seated across from him. I bet he has freckles on his shoulders and back, he has some on his arms and the backs of his hands. 

“Okay, so next time we’ll meet up at my parents' place, they have a garage and we’ll be able to start working on the prop ideas,” Agatha says once everyone’s bill is paid. 

It’s as we stand that I notice that Simon is wearing track shorts and beat-up _Converse_. Did he roll out of bed before coming? Yet I can't help but stare at the shape of his calves and the curve of his knees. 

We walk out together and say our goodbyes. Agatha and Penny head off in one direction, having made some sort of plans together, Dev offers Niall, Simon and I rides home. I turn him down, I have a feeling that Simon wants to talk to me alone and I’ll attempt to hear him out. _ Attempt _is the keyword, I’m curious and want to learn more about this ‘magic’ that he has, and his supposed ability to grant a wish. I want to dissect it and view it under a microscope. 

My cousin throws me a leering smile as he and Niall walk away together. I sneer at him before turning to face Simon. I’m about three inches taller than him, and I’m grateful for the height difference as I peer down my nose at him. He shifts awkwardly under my scrutiny. 

“I didn’t mean to freak you out the other night!” He blurts, a hand running through his curls to tug on them. He's making a mess of them.

“What’s your full name?” I find myself asking him instead. 

He gives me an adorably confused look, “Simon Snow.”

“Are you a fucking fairytale character?” I shake my head, his name is ridiculous. “Nevermind, follow me, Snow.”

“Why’d you ask me my full name?” He questions while jogging a bit to catch up to my longer strides as I head towards the tube. 

“I didn't want to invite a _ complete _ stranger to my place of residence,” I say. “You and I are going to talk somewhere private, for real this time.”

“Oh!” Simon nods, “cool. Uh...what’re your full name? Since you’re a total stranger who I’m following home. Which is dangerous, I mean, you could want to murder me. You could be a serial killer. Or a vampire! You kind of look the type.”

I want to let out an amused snort but manage to keep my composure. “I'm Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, and if I kill you then consider the debt over the fact that I _ saved your life _ repaid.”

* * *

Seeing Simon in my flat is a little disconcerting, it’s been a long time since I’ve brought anyone home. Granted, the reason for him being here has nothing to do with carnal passion and mutually beneficial orgasms, and more to do with whatever the hell he is. 

He’s taking in my living room and the open layout of it flowing into the kitchen. The large windows and the hallways lead to the only bathroom and my bedroom. I could afford something bigger, but I don’t see the point when it’s only me living here. Fiona comes over sometimes, and Mordelia has tried multiple times to stay over for a weekend, but I purposely make it so that I can’t have guests overnight. 

“How long have you lived here?” He asks me as he goes up to a bookcase that’s shoved against the same walls as my television. 

I attempt to look at my flat through fresh eyes. The oak floors, the small dark gray sectional and dark wood coffee table and TV stand. The equally dark bookcases bracketing either side of the television. The green and gray area rug underneath the sofa. My kitchen has gray and white granite countertops and white cabinets with stainless steel appliances. I have a small black round table tucked in a corner with matching black chairs. My walls are white and my large windows don’t have any sort of dressing on them. It’s very spartan, but I couldn’t bring myself to care to do much more with it. 

“About a year,” I say, “would you like something to drink?” I am, if nothing else, a good host. 

I try to focus on his large hands running fingers over the spines of some of my well-worn books instead of on the fact that I’ve been living here since I had been released from the hospital after the accident. The car accident was with a semi-truck, the driver had a stroke at the wheel and crashed directly into the drivers’ side of my car. They had to use the jaws of life to get me out and airlift me to a nearby hospital. The other driver did not survive. O

I try not to remember waking up from a six-week coma, of being told that there was an 83% probability that I would never walk again. It’s hard to forget the surgeries on my spine and legs, the symmetrical scars which litter my waist and hips and back and knees, the jagged scars from glass shattering on my forearms. 

The accident itself is hazy in my mind. It happened so fast and all that I can grasp is the flashing of lights and the taste of copper. My therapist says that it’s perfectly normal for the mind to suppress the trauma. 

“Oh, sure! Thanks,” Simon’s voice shakes me from my downward spiral. 

Most people would politely decline, I’m starting to suspect that this man was raised in a barn. 

“I’ll make some tea,” I tell him while slowly making my way towards my kitchen. I’d need to sit soon, my leg feels as if it’s on fire. It’s the nerve damage that makes it feel this way sometimes. One of my many bottles of pain pills sits in the same cabinet as my mugs. I open it and take out two, along with two mugs. 

Simon comes over to the bar and hops on a stool, he leans forward and watches as I turn the electric kettle on. “So...talking, yeah?” 

“Yes,” I bring a tin of rose tea out, not giving him any other options and not caring. I want to get under his skin like he gets under mine. 

“Well, if you believe what I told you,” Simon chews on his lower lip to the point of distraction, and when he releases it, it’s red and swollen. “If you believe me then there are stipulations. Rules, if you will.”

I huff, “like in _ Aladdin_?” 

“Exactly like _ Aladdin_,” And he’s watching me swallow my medication dry with his impossibly blue eyes that almost seem to glow, “I can’t kill anyone, I can’t make anyone fall in love with you, and I can’t bring anyone back from the dead.” 

I scoop the loose leaf tea into the mugs (I don’t own teacups) and pour the hot water over it before reaching for cream and sugar and spoons. I hand one over to Simon and watch him add barely any sugar and no cream, which is the complete opposite of me. 

“This would go well with scones,” Simon states after his first sip. 

“I don’t have any,” I sigh because he’s not wrong. 

Honestly, I don't have much food. Some ramen noodle packets, a box of stale cereal, and frozen pizza. I blink and then startle, my blood going cold and my heart beating fast as adrenaline spikes through the pit of my stomach. On the countertop beside Simon is a box of scones that are so fresh they’re still steaming. 

“How the fuck did you -?” I allow my question to hang as I watch him pull one out of the box and take a satisfying bite. 

“Magic,” He tells me with his mouth full. 

This is the definition of madness, it must be all the medication that I’m on that’s making me hallucinate. Really, what the fuck? Magic? I wish I could say it isn’t real but that’s twice now that he’s done some sort of trick with food. Tricks that I cannot find a rational explanation for. 

He shifts the box towards me and I delicately take one out. I stare down at it as if it’s a bomb about to go off. It feels solid in my palm. Warm and soft and smells delicious. 

“It’s sour cherry,” He tells me while ripping into a second scone, “they’re my favourite.”

I take a small bite, hoping that he’s not feeding me poison. The tart sweetness that hits my tastebuds is amazing and I allow myself a moment to enjoy it as my mind reels. Now I have so many questions for him.

“Why aren’t you blue?” Blurts out of my mouth before I could fully filter it. That is the stupidest question I have ever asked in my entire life and I am somewhat embarrassed by it. 

Simon laughs, it’s a sound that comes from his belly and barks out of his mouth, “Oh my God.”

I scoff at him but can’t help the small smile that’s twisting its way onto my face. 

“You’ve watched too many Disney films,” Simon beams at me, “my eyes are blue, is that not enough for you?” 

His eyes are too blue, almost _ unnaturally _blue. His glasses do nothing to hide their colour. 

“Before you ask, no, I don’t live in a lamp,” he’s making his way through his third scone. “And no, this isn’t like some real-life version of _ The Monkey’s Paw._”

“You’ve answered all of my questions,” I say while still picking at my first scone. 

Simon shrugs and offers a half-smile, “they’re the most common ones that I receive.”

“Do you tell a lot of people?” I place the baked good down on the counter and lean forward, deciding to take a sip of my 

“Um, I try not to.” He stops eating and grabs his mug with both hands. “Before you ask, I was born this way. My parents were both like this, there’s not a weird genetic mutation. I’m not, like, an _ X-Man _ or anything. I’m not an alien either, at least not that I know of.”

“You’re trying to cover your bases here,” I comment as I take in his face. The three moles on his cheek, the one underneath an eye, the two near his hairline. I wonder if what I used to hear as a child was true, and that freckles were Angel’s kisses, if that’s true then he’s well-loved. “_Google _ said that _ Jinn _are lower-level Angels.” 

Simon snorts, “_Google _ is a twat.” 

I chuckle at that, my limbs feeling loose. What _ would _ I wish for? My mind immediately goes to having my body back to the way it once was. To being able to walk, being able to _ dance_, without any sort of painful repercussions. To no longer be terrified of driving, I used to love doing that. I loved my car, it was my father’s old Jaguar that he had given to me as part of my graduation gift from Uni. Then there are the wishes larger than me, world peace, the ability to end world hunger, the end of all abuse, the options are limitless. At the same time, if I make a global wish, how would that affect people? Would that be going farther that he's capable of?

“What would you wish for?” I ask him. 

Simon thinks for a moment, “I mean, I guess I’d wish for better vision. I hate having to constantly wear glasses, and contacts are a pain.” 

His horn-rimmed glasses look good on him, but I’m not about to tell him that. 

“Are there limitations when it comes to your magic?” I’m leaning against the counter, closer than before, the top half of my body practically folded towards him. I wish the counter was a bit narrower, something about him draws me. It has since I first spotted him on the kerb several days ago, it hasn’t even been a week since he’s stumbled into my orbit and I can’t help but want to close the gap between us. 

He shifts on the bar stool, and his ears are slowly pinkening. “Sort of.” 

“What if I refuse the wish?”

“Uh, well, it’s um...unpleasant,” Simon stammers. He licks his lips and takes in a deep breath, “basically what happens is my magic builds up, and it continues to build until I go off.”

“Go off?” I stand up straight, alarmed, “as in _ explode_?”

Simon shrugs for probably the millionth time today. It seems to be his main way of communicating, and while I would typically be annoyed by this, considering the context of our conversation, don't blame him for not outright answering. He could explode. I wonder if he means literally or figuratively. I wonder if his magical build-up causes him to become the equivalent of a nuclear bomb. 

I pinch at the bridge of my nose, “what if I don’t want a wish? This has been entirely against my will.” I did not consent to this whatsoever. 

Simon shrugs, “it’s not as if I want to give you a wish. A wish is something powerful, and something that hasn’t been done since _ Jinn _were captured and used as slaves. Baz, you saved my life, and I owe you a great debt.”

I chew on the inside of my mouth as I contemplate his words. My gaze goes to the windows in the living room, the view of brownstones across the road, the sight of the clear blue sky. I ground myself in that, in knowing that things outside of my flat are still going on and that this is only a brief bump in my sort of fucked-up life. He owes me a great debt, which is stupid, so stupid. All I did was prevent him from being hit by a truck, I did what a decent human being would have done.

“Okay,” I breathe after a few silent moments, “is there a deadline for this?”

“Um,” Simon pauses and then counts on his hands for a moment, “roughly three weeks from today.”

“Are you serious?” I narrow my eyes at him, “and if we had never seen each other again, what would have happened to you?”

He shrugs again and I want to deck him. 

Eventually, we agree to meet again for the play on a later date and I walk Simon to the door. I watch him leave the building from my living room window before deciding to take a hot soak in my bathtub. 

My body is too tense from all of the information provided to me and it aches. I’m too young to be feeling this way. Afterward, I take a dosage of my stronger pain pills and force myself to go into my stretches, gritting my teeth as I grab the underside of my foot and push my knee down, forcing the hamstrings to pull sharply. My breathing comes out in short pants and I blink hard as the tears form in my eyes as I do the same to my bad leg.

Soon the pills kick in and I feel better, loose and drowsy. I lie down on my bed and yawn, rubbing my face into my pillow. Before sleep fully takes me under, I grab my phone from where it’s charging on my nightstand to check on any missed messages. 

[Group Chat: My Minions]

**Niall **(15:00): Are we not going to discuss how Baz pulled Simon twice?

**Dev **(15:01): My thoughts exactly!

**Niall **(15:01): This is very unlike our dear Basilton 

**Dev **(15:02): Indubitably. 

**Baz **(15:03): You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

**Dev **(15:05): He lives!

**Niall **(15:05): I appreciate the classic quote that you just used. How’s Simon?

**Dev **(15:06): Yes, how is that good man, Simon?

**Baz **(15:07): You’re both idiots, goodnight.

[Wicked Witch]

**Fiona **(19:01): Boyo, heard you’re doing volunteer work now. 

**Baz **(19:03): You’re all gossips who need lives. 

**Fiona **(19:04): Say’s the recluse. Maybe you’ll find yourself a man next.

**Baz **(19:05): Pot, meet Kettle. 

**Fiona **(19:07): At least I get laid regularly. 

**Baz **(19:10): This is where I end our conversation, Fi. You’ve yet again gone too far.

**Fiona **(19:11): LMAOOOO!

* * *

It’s after our Sunday discussion that I realize that Simon is _ everywhere_. The coffee shop (of course), the grocery store, the tube, the deli! This has me surmise that we live in the same neighbourhood. How is it that I never noticed him before? 

If we happen to be going the same direction, he’ll throw me a smile and saddle up beside me. He doesn’t speak much, most of our time spent together during these moments are done in silence. I don’t believe that he’s stalking me, it’s just a creepy coincidence and a small world for the two of us. 

It’s Wednesday when I make my way back to my favourite coffee shop. Simon smiles at me brightly from behind the counter and writes down my order of a medium pumpkin mocha breve. There’s no one in line behind me so he leans forward on his elbows, tilting his chin up to me enticingly. 

“Don’t you just _ wish _the weather clears up?” He asks me with a tilt of his head. 

I furrow my brow, “did you really just try that?”

Simon attempts to give me an innocent grin, “your drink is coming up now.”

On Thursday we run into each other at the grocers and Simon literally bumps into me, having been too preoccupied with his phone. When he looks up and realizes it’s me he gives me a sheepish smile, “don’t you just _ wish _people were more polite?”

I understand that he’s only got a little more than two weeks left before he overflows. I just haven’t decided what I want yet. I could waste my wish on something as trivial as the weather or other people’s manners, but that isn’t what I want. “You’re insufferable.”

Simon snickers and follows me through the rest of the store, watching as I place various food items into my basket. He frowns, “you’re not getting much. Do you even eat? You’re really skinny. Do you have a disorder?”

“Oh my God,” I sneer down at him, “do you honestly not have manners? You don’t just ask people shit like that.”

“Sorry!” He says, “Penny’s always telling me to mind my business and think before I talk.”

“That’s sound advice.” I muse before looking back down at him. He’s in a red t-shirt and gray track shorts this time. Same beat-up _Converse_ on his feet. “Where’s the food that you’re buying?”

“Ah, Penny said that she just bought milk, so I was leaving when I ran into you.” He tells me. 

“You live with Penny?” I find myself asking him. I don’t know much about him other than his name is Simon Snow, he’s a _ Jinn_, sour cherry scones are his favourite and he hates wearing glasses. 

“Yeah,” Simon nods as he throws pasta into my basket without my permission, “although she’s probably going to move out once the lease is up, to live with her boyfriend.”

He’s putting pesto and premade pasta sauce in the basket next. 

“What’re you doing? I’m not buying this,” I tell him. 

“That’s okay, I’ll buy it. I’m making you a proper meal with, hopefully, leftovers for tomorrow.” Simon pauses, “you’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

Which is how I found myself back home with Simon Snow in my kitchen making spaghetti and meat sauce. He even made me buy fresh vegetables to put in the sauce. My flat smells of sauteed onions and garlic and I’m watching him from my bar stool with little complaint. 

“Do you ever use this kitchen to cook?” He asks as he chops fresh tomatoes on a cutting board that he procured out of thin air, facing me, his back toward the stove with a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. He looks so at ease in my kitchen that it throws me off. 

I couldn’t remember the last time _ I _ cooked anything, “no.” 

“Don’t you _ wish _that you did?” He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously at me and I can’t help the snort of a cut-off laugh that makes its way out of me. “Seriously though, you need to take more care of yourself.”

My phone buzzes on the counter and I peer down at it. 

[The Worst] 

**Mordelia **(16:49): What’re you doing? 

**Baz **(16:50): Dinner. 

**Mordelia **(16:52): Cereal doesn’t count.

I roll my eyes at my sister even though she can’t see it. Then I take a photo of Simon over the cutting board. His head is tilted down to his hands and he’s focusing on what he’s doing.

[The Worst]

**Baz **(16:53): <jpg>

**Baz **(16:53): Not cereal. 

**Mordelia **(16:54): HHHHHHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNN.

**Mordelia **(16:55): I’d love to have him for dinner too. What’s his name? When did you meet? How long have you been dating? Are you sleeping with him yet?

**Baz **(16:56): You’re annoying.

* * *

Sunday has me taking my strongest dosage of pills after dressing in my best short-sleeved button-down, nice jeans, and name brand slide-ons, my hair is back in a neat ponytail. I’m early for once because I try to maintain a good impression with the Wellbelove's. They’re new money, and frankly, my family wouldn’t even associate with them if my step-mother wasn’t best friends with Agatha’s mother. 

Beside me is my cane, I’m already dreading the sympathetic looks the older Wellbelove's are bound to throw my way over it. Which is part of the reason why I chose to be comfortably numb for this.

“Oh hey,” a familiar voice calls out from behind me. 

I turn and see Simon, in real jeans and a clean black t-shirt, clean red _Converse_ on his feet. I commend him on attempting to look nice for Dr. and Mrs. Wellbelove. 

“Nice haircut,” I comment, his nicely faded textured undercut is distracting me. 

“Thanks,” he says while slowing down to match my pace. “You’re early today.”

I nod, “my family is friends with the Wellbelove's. Tardiness would reflect poorly on my parents.”

“Huh, you never came across as the type who gave a shit about things like that,” Simon states. By now we’re just about at the front gate to the house. 

“Why would you think that? You and I barely know each other.”

“True, but, don’t you _ wish _we did?” Simon stops and looks up at me expectantly, his face serious for once as he asks. 

Wait, _ what_? Does he mean what it sounds like he means? My heart is in my throat and I swallow nervously. He and I have only known each other for roughly two weeks, it doesn’t matter how much time we’ve spent together during this. It’s only been two weeks. I wet my lips and stare back at him, refusing to be the one who backs down. 

“Are you two going to come inside?” Agatha calls out from the entryway, “you’ve been standing there staring at each other for almost five minutes. Hurry up and kiss, Penny’s already here.”

Her voice startles both of us and we simultaneously jump and face her. She’s giving us a knowing smile from the front door. 

“Kiss?” Simon echoes, I don’t even have to look at him to know that his ears and face are gradually reddening. 

“Come along, Snow,” I open the front gate and lead the way inside. 

The meeting is a little different than the last one. We're outside in the Wellbeloves’ garage with various sketches and cardboard cutouts and fabrics that are strewn about. 

“Does anyone here know how to sew?” I ask. “Is there enough money to just buy everything that we need?” I would rather donate more than deal with this part of the show. 

“Relax, we only have to create the initial design, I have someone willing to donate props and a printing company willing to do the backgrounds,” Agatha snickers. 

Penny snorts from where she and Niall are coming up with how the trolls costumes should look, “this is so much easier than the plays we’d have to put together in school.”

“That’s because we’re adults with our own income and connections,” Dev chirps. 

“Have you started auditions, Aggie?” Simon asks from his seat on the floor in the far corner where he was banished to after breaking a piece of equipment. He’s got a bag of pita chips that he’s been gradually making his way through. 

Agatha tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “probably by next week, once everything else is situated. We’ll need to know who’s playing what parts before ordering costumes.”

“How’s coming up with a routine, Baz?” Niall asks me, his voice soft and low. He knows that dancing is always a sore spot for me, and it probably always will be, but I love it too much to just give it up entirely. Which is why I agreed to help with a production of _ Frozen _of all things. 

“It’s going well,” I respond and fiddle with the nearby material, enjoying how the texture feels underneath the pads of my fingers, “I think I’ll need someone to help me, though. Any volunteers?”

It’s painful to ask for this, something that should have been easy enough for me to get done on my own.

“I can help you!” Simon readily says like I knew that he would. 

I’m not going to turn him away, although I can tell that he has two left feet just by the way he walks. That doesn’t matter, and it may even be good practice for when I have to work with actual children. It’ll teach me patience if nothing else. 

My cousin gives me a knowing look that makes me want to punch him in the face, “_dancing _ together, huh? Is that what the kids call it these days? I always thought it was called _ going to the movies_.”

His comment has Agatha giggling, Niall snorting, and Penny biting her lip to prevent a smile. 

“Shut up,” I glare at him, “come on, Snow, we’re not needed here. We can go to my place to practice.”

Simon has an expression of confusion as he gets up to follow me (because he’s an idiot). As we leave the garage I can hear Dev call out after us.

“Make sure you use protection!”

“Fuck off, Dev!” I yell back, not caring that it’s mid-morning and we’re in a respectable neighbourhood. So much for trying to leave a good impression of my family for Dr. and Mrs. Wellbelove.

“Do you have food at your place?” Simon asks once we’re back on the main road heading toward the subway. 

“You know damn well that I don’t,” I answer, although I thought to lie to him just to see the disappointed look on his face when he realizes that all I have are cheese sticks and orange juice. 

He’s running a hand through his hair and blowing his cheeks out as he sighs, “honestly, how have you survived on your own for this long? You could just _ wish _for a fridge and pantry full of food to save us the trip to the market.”

“I’m not wasting my wish on that,” I say curtly. “Who says that we’re going to the market together?”

I’m not sure when our relationship became so domestic. He’s already cooked me dinner, for Christ’s sake. No one other than my family has done that, certainly none of my past boyfriends. Though they were few and far between, dancing was the love of my life and everyone else always came second.

“Come on, I can’t do anything without food, I’m hungry!” Simon is practically whinging. 

“I just saw you eat a bag of crisps,” I give him a pointed look. 

“That was just a snack, Baz,” Simon rolls his eyes. “I’ll cook!”

I pretend to debate it, but we end up going to the market. 

* * *

“Alright, show me what you’ve got,” Simon throws himself down on my sofa after lunch. He’s lounging on it casually, hands on his belly and glasses askew. He looks entirely too comfortable in my living room. 

I push the coffee table so that it’s against the furthest wall for us to have space. I’d rather move the rug as well, but decide that it’s not that big of a deal if it’s left. This is for a children’s program, not a professional show, practicing on a carpet won’t change anything. 

“Stand up,” I point for him to stand on a spot on the rug, “I’m going to show you and you’re going to mimic to the best of your ability.”

“With no music?” 

I stare flatly at him for several moments, but he merely juts his chin and doesn’t back down. Of course he doesn’t, this shouldn’t surprise me. I heave a dramatic sigh and grab my phone from my back pocket to put on _ Spotify _. I attempt to put on the type of music I used to listen to while dancing and watch Simon out of the corner of my eye stand up. 

He stretches his arms up above his head and I try to ignore how his shirt rides up, showing off a sliver of freckled skin and a dark treasure trail. Fuck. 

“Oh hey! Isn’t this song for a waltz?” Simon perks up as I place my phone down on the coffee table. 

“It is.” How does he know this?

“My grandma made me learn all the proper dances, she’s a Lady.” Simon has an excited smile on his face (_can_ he read minds?) “Can we waltz first?”

I put my cane down near my phone. “I can’t exactly do that.” I hear myself saying with little control over my mouth. It doesn’t matter how loose my body feels due to the medication, “the fact is that my leg is shit.” 

Simon purses his lips together for a moment, seems to think and nod to himself. “Then we won’t waltz, but dance? Come on, humor me.” He reaches a hand out, palm up for me to grab. 

Well, fuck it, fine. He wants to dance? He’s probably clumsy and would step on my feet every other sway. It’ll just mean ice and more medication later. 

“Oh no, you are not taking the position of lead,” I shake my head and rearrange our hands. 

“What?” Simon glares at me, “why the fuck not?”

“Because _ I’m _the dancer -” 

“Which means that you should be flexible enough to switch positions!” 

“No.”

Eventually Simon concedes, and suddenly his hand is on my shoulder and my hand is on his waist, our free palms resting together. He’s warmer than I am, and this close the smell of his cologne leaves me light-headed. 

I lead slowly, closing my eyes and trying to get a feel of the music. I can tell that Simon is watching me do this. When I snap my gaze down to him he blushes. His cheeks are often ruddy, it’s not hard to fluster him. 

I twirl him when the song transitions into another and he laughs as I bring him back in. We don’t move much, mostly just sway together. 

“Tell me about yourself?” Simon asks, “I feel like you know more about me than I do about you.”

“Hardly,” I wish I could do the foxtrot or something more strenuous than simple side steps. My cheek is almost against his crown while his face is practically pressed against my shoulder. When did we get so close?

“You’re an enigma.”

“Say’s the genie.”

I dip him, and I know I shouldn't, he's at least a stone heavier than me and my leg can barely support the weight. I can feel it buckling as I lean myself forward so that our chests are nearly touching. Simon's face is dusted with pink as his too blue eyes look up at me. I think I might kiss him, we barely know each other but I want to, I like him in a way I didn't expect. 

My leg twinges and it's the only warning it gives me. 

"Shit!" I grit as we fall onto the area rug, Simon gasping as I land uncomfortably on top of him.

We're in a daze for a moment and I roll off of him, mortified, “I am so sorry.”

His bark of laughter shakes me and I glance over at him with wide eyes. I can't help the timid smile that I throw back at him.

"Oh my God!" Simon cackles. He's closer to me than I realized, and I can feel my face is heating up as he leans forward.

“I know what I want to wish for,” I murmur a hair's breadth from his mouth, my gaze down to my knees. It's stupid (I _ do _ want to kiss him), the wish can wait, but I don't think I would have the courage to make it any other time. It's a selfish wish, so selfish. I can do so much good but the truth is that I'm worried about myself. I realize that I rely on my medication too much, that the full-body aches are part of the depression on top of the spinal damage. Us falling onto the floor solidifies what I need to do.

He pulls back, blue eyes wide and starting to glow, “What is it?”

“I,” I wet my lips, how does one exactly _ word _ a wish without fucking themselves over? “I wish that my body - fuck.”

Simon gives me a soft smile, “you can always try again later.”

“No,” I sigh. “If I don't do it now, I won't be able to bring myself to do it again.” 

Because it's selfish.

He tilts his head at me. “Baz, it's alright. You've got a little bit more time.”

Simon stands up and offers me his hand. I grudgingly take it, pushing myself up as he pulls. It's a clumsy act that has us bumping into each other. He easily lifts the coffee table and puts it back in its place.

“I should get going,” he tells me. “Text me, yeah?” 

“Alright.” 

* * *

I wake up suddenly, slightly disoriented and achingly hard. The sun hasn’t peaked over the horizon yet, everything is blanketed in darkness and my dream is still vivid in my mind. Blue eyes, freckles, large hands, a crooked smile. It has been a long time since I’ve felt lust and it’s thrumming in my veins strong enough to hurt. 

I groan loudly as I shift against my mattress. My body is sensitive and highly aware of every movement. I shift so that I’m holding myself on my knees, my thighs trembling with my weight, my left hand finding its way underneath the waistband of my joggers. Is this wrong? To be thinking of him while doing this? In the privacy of my bedroom it doesn’t feel sordid.

My breathing is coming in small pants as I wrap my hand around myself, I hiss softly. I’m already leaking and I know it won’t be long, the front of my pants is damp. I shift my hips and imagine him behind me, his large hand wrapped around me while the other tugs on my hair. I shift again so that I’m sitting on the heels of my feet, pulling on my hair as I bite my lower lip. 

Another strangled groan. My limbs are tingling as the pleasure narrows down to one single point. My mouth is open as I try to take in as much air as possible, it’s too much. My thoughts race with him, _ Simon _ , _ Simon _ , _ Simon _ , Simon, _ Si- oh fuck_.

“_Ah_!” I sob, my thighs tremble and my hips pivot on their own as pleasure crests and crashes and I’m left as a puddle of raw, exposed, nerves. I’m gasping for breath, vague disgust over my wet joggers and sticky hand washes over me, but my body is too boneless to move.

“Fuck,” I whisper to my bedroom ceiling, my heart is pounding in my ears and I can’t wipe the smile that’s found its way onto my face. “_Fuck_.” 

* * *

[Absolute Disaster]

**Simon **(09:04): Last night was fun, but I just realized that we never got around to anything that had to do with the play.

**Simon **(09:05): So I was thinking, maybe we should meet up again to do some work?

**Simon **(09:06): If you want to, that is.

**Simon **(09:06): No pressure!

**Simon **(09:07): I get out around noon if you’re free.

**Simon **(09:08): I can bring food since you never seem to have anything other than Ramen and tea.

**Simon **(09:08): This is sad.

**Simon **(09:09): Are you even awake right now? Probably not, it must be nice to be able to sleep like that. I’ve been up since 3:30, opened the shop at 4:30.

**Simon **(09:10): Just, let me know?

**Simon **(09:11): I have to get back to work now. 

**Baz **(11:15): Feel free to stop by whenever. I’ll be here.

Simon knocks on my front door at a quarter after noon, still in his work uniform of a black t-shirt and dark washed jeans, bags of fresh produce and various meats under his arms. “I come bearing gifts!”

“You don’t have to feed me every time you see me,” I state blandly, but secretly I want him to cook for me again. I think we both know this, it feels like common knowledge. 

I watch as he places the bags in my kitchen, forearms and biceps flexing as he removes random foodstuffs. I don’t bother telling him where anything goes - honestly, it doesn’t matter - but he reorganizes my kitchen in a way that works for him, and I like it. I like him here, in my flat, trying to feed me every time that he sees me. I like running into him on the street and chatting him up while running errands, I like seeing him behind the bar of my favourite cafe. 

I _ like _ **him**. 

Simon smiles over the bar at me. “I know I don’t _ have _ to feed you, but have you _ seen _you?”

I can feel my face flush at the pointed look he gives me, “is that some sort of come on?”

He glances away from me, ears reddening and smile widening. “Er, I mean, well, it’s just. I mean, come on Baz. We both know that you’re fit, but I mean, that, also, you look like you need a decent meal.” He’s endearing. 

Instead of focusing on the insult at the end of his stuttering, I lean forward against the countertop and arch a brow at him. “You think I’m fit?”

Simon presses his mouth together, biting at the inside of his cheek, “don’t be obtuse.”

“Big word, Snow.”

“Bite me, Pitch.”

“I can assure you that I’ve thought about it.” 

The prurient grin that breaks out on my face is instant, and I enjoy how his blush spreads down his throat and probably to his chest, which is hidden underneath his black t-shirt. His neck is dramatically long, and his Adam’s apple is showy as he swallows. It’s a production, but he’s done it twice now within the last minute. My thoughts briefly go back to this morning, alone in my bed while thinking of him. I wonder if he somehow _ knows _. 

Simon clears his throat and shifts where he stands, but his face is still stained. “I’m making us lunch now.”

“By all means,” I gesture at him to continue with whatever he plans on doing. 

He rolls his eyes at me, “thanks for the permission.”

“Well, it _ is _my kitchen,” I slide onto a barstool and watch him move as if he belongs there - in my kitchen. “What are you making for us today?”

“Who says anything about me cooking for you anymore?” Simon is looking down at his hands as he preps, “after a comment like that, it sounds like you’re a vampire.”

“Well, I _do_ enjoy sucking.” I bite my lower lip but can’t help my laughter as I watch him choke on nothing. 

“Oh my God,” he covers his face and turns his back to me, it doesn’t hide how red the nape of his ridiculously long neck is. He has a mole right where the collar of his shirt starts that I want to place my mouth on. 

“Alright, Snow?”

“Shut up,” Simon says, he’s fanning his face now, “you’re the worst.”

And then I press, because I can’t help it, because I’m disturbed. “Do you _ wish _for me to shut up?”

He whips around to face me, eyes wide before he’s laughing. Helpless giggles that bubble up from somewhere deep in his belly, “have you always been this smooth? I feel like I don’t even know you!”

“It’s a good thing that you’re getting to know me then, isn’t it?” I ask as I rest my head on my palm, aware that it causes my hair to shift over my collarbone just _ so _. It’s a move I’ve always used in the past and it never fails me. 

Simon licks his lips as he stares at me for a brief moment as if he’s trying to gather his thoughts. He then goes back to creating lunch for us, a shy smile on his face, “yeah, it is.”

* * *

[Group Chat: Minions]

**Dev **(09:31): Shall I say it, or will Niall?

**Baz **(09:31): I don’t understand idiot.

**Dev **(09:31): You’re such a dick.

**Baz **(09:32): I am what I eat.

**Niall **(09:33): Can’t we have one conversation not about dicks?

**Dev **(09:34): Speaking of Baz eating dicks, how’s Simon doing? Is he nice?

**Niall **(09:35): JFC Dev.

**Baz **(09:36): Subtle.

**Dev **(09:37): Agatha says that you two spend an awful lot of time together. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?

**Baz **(09:37): You’re a moron.

**Niall **(09:38): Micah said that Penny put a quota on how often Simon can talk about you.

**Baz **(09:39): Who the hell is Micah?

**Niall **(09:40): Penny’s boyfriend. He’s a co-worker of mine. 

**Baz **(09:41): I can’t even with you two.

**Dev **(09:41): Are you dating yet?

**Baz **(09:42): No.

**Niall **(09:43): I told you that we should have waited to ask him these things.

**Baz **(09:44): Is everyone gossiping about us?

**Dev **(09:45): Dude, it’s so bad that even your dad knows. YOUR DAD, BAZ.

**Dev **(09:45): Fiona knows too!

**Baz **(09:46): ...how?

**Dev **(09:47): Mrs. Wellbelove told Daphne.

**Baz **(09:48): How the fuck does Mrs. Wellbelove know?

**Dev **(09:49): Agatha, duh.

**Niall **(09:50): Agatha, who heard it from Penny, who heard it from, wait for it -

**Niall **(09:51): SIMON.

**Niall **(09:51) Directly from the source.

**Dev **(09:51): He’s into you. Go for it.

[Absolute Disaster]

**Simon **(10:11): I think Agatha knows that the last time we were supposed to work on the choreography together that all we did was eat Thai and watch Always Sunny in Philadelphia. 

**Baz **(10:29): Why would she suspect that?

**Simon **(10:35): Because she asked me how our practices have been going and I’m a shit liar.

**Baz **(10:36): JFC, Snow.

**Simon **(10:41): She said you’re a bad influence on me and threatened to replace me as your partner. 

**Baz **(10:43): I’m at a doctor’s appointment, I’ll be home around noon. Come over then, dress comfortably. 

**Simon **(10:44): Bossy!

**Baz **(10:45): You’re into it.

* * *

I wish I could pace, I would be doing that now if my leg wasn’t such shit. I have a pizza already on the counter for when Simon arrives, warm and fresh, having just been delivered. I rake my fingers through my hair and take in a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves while tucking errant strands behind my ears and growling as they fall back against my jaw. 

The knock on my door is punctual, as usual. Simon is always either early or exactly on time, in the near month that I’ve gotten to know him he’s yet to be late to anything. It’s a good quality that I hope would eventually rub off on me.

“Hello,” I greet him while letting him in, appreciating how this track bottoms hug him in all the right places. 

“Pizza!” Simon grins, “you’re making this worth my while.”

I take him in, his moles and freckles, his ridiculously curly bronze hair, his unnaturally blue eyes poorly hidden behind smudged horn-rimmed glasses. The width of his shoulders and his nice arms, and nice legs too now that I can get an eyeful of them. 

I swallow nervously as I follow him into the kitchen to take out plates and cups. Thanks to him my refrigerator is fully stocked. 

“You alright? By now you would have said like three smartass remarks,” Simon looks up at me suspiciously, “are you getting sick?”

“Actually,” I’m rubbing my hands on my joggers, the original plan is to dance, to do actual work, but I need to ask him about this before I lose my nerve. “I’ve got a wish in mind.”

From my peripheral I can see Simon perk up. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

My sight is set on my living room, which I once again cleared of the coffee table so that we should have room. Agatha demanded a video of what we (when did it become we? Wasn’t it supposed to be me?) put together. 

I should add some accent pieces to the decor. Maybe some family photos or something, Daphne sends me constant school photos of my younger half-siblings, I should frame some of them. 

I know Simon is waiting for me to say more, and I appreciate his patience. “I wish,” I glance down at my countertop, sparkling clean like the rest of my home, “that you will at least consider the next question I want to ask you.”

“Huh?” Simon’s gaze suddenly becomes distant, his eyes glow, and when he blinks he’s frowning up at me. “Did you just waste your wish? I could have fixed your leg, Baz! All you needed to do was wish it and you could have been back at dancing! Did you know that I _ Googled _you? I saw how you used to move, and - and why would you waste the chance to get that back?” His face is red with either annoyance or anger, or maybe a little bit of both. 

I shake my head, leaning my lower back against my kitchen sink, “Simon.”

He’s in my personal space, glaring up at me, “what the fuck is so important that you need to wish me to listen to you?”

My mouth opens and closes a few times, and I’m certain that I am doing a grand impression of a fish. “Would you be interested in dating me?”

“_What _?” Simon tilts his head to the side before aggressively rolling his eyes, “you’re such a fucking idiot.”

And then _ he's _ kissing _ me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on **[tumblr](https://moonllotus.tumblr.com/)**!


End file.
